


hands clean (the game isn't as easy as it looks)

by stickmarionette



Series: glorious compromise [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternative Timeline, Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-21
Updated: 2010-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-10 17:37:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickmarionette/pseuds/stickmarionette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Look, I'm sure you'll get along fine."</i>  Jose Mourinho replaces Frank Rijkaard as Barcelona coach.  Deco tries to cope with the aftermath, especially in regards to one Leo Messi.  Alternative timeline version of Barca, circa 08-10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hands clean (the game isn't as easy as it looks)

_08-09: two days before the start of pre-season training_

" - no, no, he's not like that - "

Deco gave up trying to figure out where he was ten minutes ago. At least the hotel looks clean this time, and he'd remembered to bring his phone along -

" - that's just something the press likes to say, you know how it is - "

Which is a good thing, really, because if he hadn't picked up Leo would probably have been worried.

(He always, always picks up, at least when it's Leo, no matter where he is or who he's with.)

Speaking of which, he's also quite glad to have woken up alone. Leo never says anything, of course, but Deco's not blind. He remembers the way Leo used to look at Jaciara, with a sort of helpless pity.

Even with Leo, though, sometimes he just has to give up and say something blandly reassuring and probably untrue.

"Look, I'm sure you'll get along fine."

___

_Q: What's your opinion on the appointment of Jose Mourinho?_

Messi: [after a long pause] I'm sure he'll bring a lot to the club.

Q: Do you think his previous comments about you will affect your working relationship?

M: That was a long time ago. We've all moved on.  
___

  
_09-10: a month into the season_

After training, as they're packing up to go home:

"My mother is here," Leo says, abruptly.

"Tell her hello from me."

"No, no, I promised, remember? Come over and try her cooking."

Deco sighs. "Leo..."

Leo bites his lip, clearly trying not to look downcast.

He very briefly entertains the laughable possibility of saying no. "...alright."

But of course it's not just an invitation to try Leo's mother's no doubt delicious cooking. That would have been too simple.

He realises this after Leo all but shoves the day's _Marca_ into his hands approximately ten seconds after they sit down on his couch.

"Have you seen this?"

"No. Why would..."

Takes his first good look at the cover. _What._

"Your agent called me about it because you wouldn't answer his calls," Leo murmurs in an undertone, eyes darting up to check his expression.

"I left my phone...somewhere."

And wow, does he not want to think about where exactly that was and why exactly he had been ten minutes late to training when seated in this pristine living room, painfully aware that Leo's watching him closely for a reaction to what he'd just produced.

"You should have been there before training this morning - I've never seen Xavi that angry."

_Marca Exclusive! Mourinho: "Deco is responsible for his own loss of form." The Portuguese coach has blamed the player's lifestyle for his recent performances._

Distantly, as if through a fog, he can feel Leo hovering over him in concern.

_Fuck. I can't - _

"I can't believe he sold me out to the press like that."

He'd wanted to sound bitter, maybe even amused. Anything but the shocked whisper that it came out as.

Leo flops back against the couch, looking anywhere except at him. "He's doing it for you."

It takes a moment for that to process.

"What?"

"It's his way of trying to get you back on form again," Leo says, voice carefully neutral. "Apparently."

Anyone else might have been fooled by his nonchalant act, but Deco has known him for a long time and the way he's fidgeting with a corner of Deco's shirt is a dead giveaway.

Carefully, he asks, "where did you hear that?"

"He said it," Leo mutters, "...when I asked him."

Deco tries to imagine a scenario in which that conversation could happen without raised voices and possibly tears - and finds that he can't.

The constant throbbing headache he seems to have had for the past three years or so - only ever going away when he's dead drunk - gets a little bit worse.

"Please don't tell me you went and yelled at him."

Leo actually rolls his eyes in response. "I never yell. I asked him, he told me."

_Dear Lord._

"Leo, I know you think that he - "

Firmly, with a shake of his head, "this is not about that. Just...worry about yourself first."

He wants to argue the point - oh Lord does he want to - but alright, this isn't the time for it. The distraction doesn't make the sensation of a ticking bomb in the dressing room any more bearable, though.

Then there's the other really disturbing thing. Leo's never been like this before. Through all the drama at the end of Rijkaard's last season, all the plotting and recriminations, he always kept everything to himself.

Everyone knows that Leo doesn't touch any of that off-pitch stuff. Most people think he's not even aware of it. Deco knows that's not true, and he of all people also knows how much Leo had wanted to say _something_ to Ronnie at the time. But he was never going to be the one who took Ronnie aside and asked him what the hell he was doing, or the one who tried to play some part in whatever went on between him and the club.

Rijkaard (and Sylvinho, and Ronnie) leaving changed a lot, though. They could all see that.

He sighs. One problem at a time.

"What the hell does he expect me to do?"

The fidgeting stops.

"Ask him," with a shadow of his old smile, "and don't yell."

_later, a meeting room, camp nou_

But of course that's impossible. They _always_ yell. Or at least, Deco yells, and Mourinho smirks.

" - why the fuck did you slag me off in the press? Had to be fucking _Marca_, didn't it, they don't already have enough on me - "

Yep, smirking. Except -

Deco's known Mourinho for a long time. Out of the squad, he's the best at reading his moods and explaining the significance of whatever bizarre thing he's done to the rest - translating from Mourinho to human, as Xavi puts it, although he says it with a grin, just to show that there are no hard feelings anywhere. In all time they've known each other, he's been on the receiving end of enough rants to last a lifetime, but he's never seen this almost disappointed look in his eyes.

" - it worked, didn't it? I haven't seen you look this awake in ages."

"You - " _You're not supposed to do this. You're just not._ He struggles to keep his voice down. "You betrayed one of your own players."

Mourinho laughs sharply. "That's funny. Betray? Look what you've done to yourself."

Disbelievingly, he realizes that the tone colouring Mourinho's voice and the look in his eyes is definitely disappointment.

_That's none of your business. Why should you be disappointed? What gives you the right?_

"You didn't make me into a footballer," Deco bites out, finally.

It feels like he's been waiting to say this forever.

But that's okay, because the reply comes so quickly he's tempted to assume that Mourinho's been practising it in his head for just this moment.

"Yes, but I see you've forgotten how to be one without me."

That's the thing about Mourinho. When he wants to, he can make a player feel like they're better than Diego fucking Maradona in '86 and Pele in Sweden combined.

Problem is, he's also really fucking good at making Deco feel like a whore.

_saturday that week_

He wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing, obnoxiously. The sun's so bright outside his window that he probably doesn't want to know what time it is.

"Hey, it's me."

"Leo? What is it?"

"...are you awake?"

"Of course I am. What's up?"

"You're not going out tonight, are you?"

He's probably going to, and Leo knows it.

"Can I come visit? We can watch a movie or something."

Deco thinks about saying no, if only because he's not sure he can handle the company of anyone from the club anytime this week - this month. And he knows why Leo is asking.

_Isn't it a bit early for an intervention? I haven't started feigning injury yet._

But what's the alternative? End up at some dump, drink more than he should and sleep with someone whose face he won't remember in the morning? Half the time he doesn't even know what he's doing in those places any more.

"...yeah, sure."

And at least it's not just for his benefit.

Thiago's gone, Ronnie's gone, Sylvinho's gone, and his cross-town pal Pablo got transferred last season.

Leo would never have asked if it was just for his own sake. But Deco knows as well as anyone just how lonely he's become.

___

_Q: Your team mate Deco seems to be going through a difficult time. What would you say to him?_

Messi: I know people are worried about Deco, but they shouldn't be. I promise he'll be back to his best soon.  
___

  
_two months later_

Deco limps into the dressing room, rubbing at his thigh. It's almost comforting that some things never change - the crowd is still the most fickle thing on earth, Spanish referees are still stupid, Atletic still have no concept of pulling their punches, alright, tackles -

"Good game," is tossed at him casually as Mourinho brushes by, coat billowing.

\- and that bastard still has him on a ball and chain.

He sits down heavily and fights the urge to laugh, a task made much easier when Giovani stomps in, his face like thunder, and makes straight for him.

_What - oh Lord._

He'd completely forgotten what had happened in the haze of the final, intense, couple of minutes, but if he had been subbed on with thirty minutes to go and subbed off with ten minutes to go, he'd probably look like that, too.

"I can't stand this any longer," Giovani hisses angrily, eyes darting towards the corner where Mourinho is busy clapping Samuel on the back.

"Keep your voice down," he whispers back.

Dammit, why did Carles have to be injured again? They could really use him in the dressing room right about now.

Giovani rolls his eyes. "No."

He should have seen it coming, really. Or at least that's what the look Xavi is shooting him behind Giovani's retreating back seems to be saying. With a sigh, Deco picks himself up to follow the boy as he stomps his way up to Mourinho.

"Why did you take me off?"

Samuel pauses on his way into the showers. Turns back and leans against a wall, watching. Seated next to his usual spot, Andres winces - at the volume, or at what Giovani is actually saying, Deco's not sure. Probably both.

Mourinho doesn't even blink. "First, you should never ask a coach this kind of question. Second, because you were playing too selfishly."

"I - I wasn't! And yeah, I'm not one of the stars, but that doesn't mean you can just - do that, without explaining."

"Ask Deco what I can and can't do without explaining. Heh, ask Deco how many times you should have passed the ball instead of trying to be a hero."

Deco glares.

_What do I have to do with this? Oh hell._

"But Leo dribbles! You let him stay on - now."

His throbbing headache makes itself known again. _Come on, we really don't need to have that argument again. It was bad enough last time._

I know you're frustrated, and you don't know what you're saying, but dammit, you're his friend.

Mourinho snorts. "You think Leo would be playing if he hasn't learned to pass the ball? Learn the same lesson, then you can play."

Deco would be glancing back in concern for Leo's reaction, but the emotions playing out on Giovani's face are fascinating in the same way a train wreck is, and he can't look away. If Andres' reaction is any indication, though, it's a good thing he can't see.

Giovani settles on looking like he's going to spit nails.

"You can't - when Mr Rijkaard was here, we - "

_Bang!_

Deco jumps at the sound of someone slamming a locker door. Bojan, if he has to guess. The rest of the team - or at least the ones he can see - look almost dazed by Giovani's daring.

Mourinho just looks amused, although Deco hasn't known him for this long without learning to read the minute signs of his annoyance.

That's when Leo suddenly appears beside him - much like he might on the pitch, actually - slinging a casual arm around Giovani's shoulder, his face carefully blank.

"It was much easier to get past defenders back in the youth teams, no? Everyone's always trying to foul us now."

His tone is the same soft mumble it's always been, but the way his fingernails are digging - deliberately, Deco's willing to bet, a silent _god, shut up_ \- into Giovani's shoulder tells its own story.

Giovani's eyes widen in comprehension and he bites his lip against more outbursts, some of his anger melting into confusion as he glances at Leo.

Even Mourinho is surprised for the briefest moment, before a considering look enters his eyes.

"Remember, you're not playing in the third division any more."

Which is an absurd thing to say - neither Leo nor Giovani have been playing lower division football for years. And it definitely wasn't what Mourinho had been planning to say. But he isn't even looking at Giovani now.

Leo lowers his head against the scrutiny.

"I know, Mister."

Behind him, Deco exchanges an astounded look with Xavi.

A couple of years back, Leo might have tried to stop the argument. He might even have been successful. But not like this, not with this - this determination in his eyes, like the single cursory look spared for a defender in his way right before blowing past without a backwards glance.

***

Of course, that isn't the end of it.

Leo and Giovani don't speak to each other for a week.

_January transfer window_

Giovani does not sign a long term contract with the club.

The day after Mourinho tells the squad, Bojan comes down with something awful and misses training. And the day after that.

The day after _that_, Leo nudges him as they leave the training ground.

"We're going to see Bojan."

"Since when?"

_You know he probably doesn't want company right now, least of all from us._

Leo shrugs. "You're not busy, right? Mr Mourinho said it might be good if you went along with me."

If he didn't know better, he'd swear that Leo was doing this on purpose.

"...alright."

_later that night_

"Look, with Gio - you don't blame me, right?"

Deco winces. Some questions aren't meant to be asked off the bat. This is one of them.

Bojan bits his lip. He looks pained, but his eyes are clear as they fall on Leo. "I - I don't."

Leo slumps against Deco, relief visible on his face. "Because I never meant to get him in trouble. And I tried, I asked Mr Mourinho to let him stay."

_You what?_

Isn't that a scary idea?

"It's not always Mourinho's decision, you know," he can only offer, quietly.

"I couldn't talk to Mr Txiki. You know why."

Leo is nice most of the time, free of malice and pretension and most of the other baggage freakishly talented young players tend to have, but he just - doesn't forget. Especially if it involves that infamous clear-out almost two seasons ago, the one that destroyed his comfort zone and shook him to the core.

Yeah, Deco knows damn well why Leo has hardly said a word to the technical director since then.

Not sure if Bojan does, though, possibly not if the way he's glancing between them, clearly biting his tongue, is any indication.

Thankfully, the boy doesn't ask. What he does say isn't much better.

"No, Deco's right, it's not like that. Gio wanted to go."

"Did he say that to you?" Leo says, with uncharacteristic sharpness in his voice.

"...yeah."

There's a sort of identical barely-hidden pain in their expressions as they look at each other, and suddenly Deco wants to be somewhere else. Leo is just picking at scabs now. But for Bojan, it's still an open wound.

They hug, and it's painful to see two kids this world-weary, but he doesn't look away.

"I wish things didn't have to be so complicated," Bojan says quietly.

Deco can almost see the shadows in his eyes - shadows named Fran Merida, Thierry Henry and now Giovani Dos Santos.

Leo sighs into Bojan's shoulder. "Me too."

___

_Q: Could you comment on the rumours that Giovani Dos Santos left because of a power struggle in the dressing room?_

Mourinho: Nonsense. In my dressing room, everyone is united. Ask any of the players, they will tell you, this is a close-knit team.  
___

_saturday, again_

The credits roll.

_Not too bad,_ Deco thinks. _Maybe I'll let him pick again next time._

Beside him, Leo carefully puts down his bowl of popcorn.

_This can't be good._

"How many times have you thought about leaving?"

He's been expecting this question for a long time - since he first let Leo into the apartment, really.

Because he never unpacked after moving in, almost two years ago. Because the place feels like a hotel, and he's never tried to change that, beyond a couple of photos of his kids on the walls. Because he doesn't really live here, not in the proper sense of the word.

Because running one-year contracts have made him really fucking paranoid.

Even so, he's not quite sure how to answer. "I'm not young any more, Leo."

"But you're having a great season!"

A part of him can't help but find the vehemence in Leo's voice touching, and isn't that kind of sad?

"How long do you think I can keep it up?"

Silence. Leo bites his lip, then - "Mr Mourinho says another three seasons."

Deco snorts. "He's delusional."

Then he processes the entire sentence.

"Wait, you - "

Astonishingly, Leo blushes. "I wasn't supposed to tell you that."

He's not sure if that makes him feel better or worse.

"You asked him?"

There's a bit of defiance and a lot of fragility in the way Leo raises his head and stares straight at him.

"…I don't want you to leave."

A long time ago, a man - a charming, irritating man who might as well have owned him - had smiled and told Deco not to say anything he didn't mean, because - _"Who knows? Someone might take you seriously, and then you'd be in trouble."_

_It's a bit late for that,_ he thinks ruefully, glancing down at the white-knuckled grip of Leo's hands, clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

"I won't if I can help it."

Leo's smile is worn but genuine. "Stay. We'll keep winning, I promise."

___

_Q: There were some people who said at the beginning of the season that Deco was finished, that you'd never play for Barca again. What would you say to them now you've won your place back?_

Deco: People can think what they like. But I've been here a long time, and the fans know that I'm a winner. That hasn't changed.  
___

  
_March_

0 - 0 at half time against Depor.

Mourinho stares at them for a long, long moment before he speaks.

"You can all wake up and start playing any time."

"They're not giving us any room," Andres says, frustration plain on his face.

It's not whining, not really. (Andres is far too good for whining.)

Only a simple statement of fact. They're being marked so closely Deco's surprised he hasn't got one of the Depor players permanently stuck to him yet.

Which is why Mourinho only raises an eyebrow instead of subjecting Andres to the full force of his disdain.

"Make some."

He doesn't have to say 'we need those three points'. They all know. Real are apparently 3 - 0 up against Recreativo, after all. He doesn't have to say 'of course you can break them down, you're better players'.

By now, they all believe it anyway.

"Go out there and win that game."

Scattered nods. Puyol and Samuel look so serious that they might as well be going to war.

From his perch near the wall, Leo grins. "Okay, Mister."

***

It's not the neatest tackle, late and getting the man as well as the ball, but having seen the whole thing from up close, Deco is relieved that it's not nearly as bad as Leo is making out.

(Most importantly, it _did_ happen in the box.)

Still, the familiar surge of anger courses through him. He's never forgotten all those times they've had to lift Leo off the ground, where he'd been lying, broken. He knows that Leo doesn't even bother to dust himself off anymore after being fouled, because it's just going to happen again. He's seen the bruises on Leo's shins after every game.

(When they have mid-week games, they're pretty much permanent.)

It takes a couple of deep, calming breaths before he can start jogging towards the small knot of players already standing over Leo and check up on him.

When he gets there, he glances down just in time to catch Leo flicking his eyes upwards for the briefest moment before covering his face.

It's a penalty - of course.

Deco pulls Leo up with a grin -

\- and fails utterly to be surprised by the hard gleam in his eyes.

***

The goalkeeper goes left, Leo aims for the right, and it's all so absurdly nonchalant that Deco could laugh.

Arms raised to the sky, amidst the increasingly loud booing and whistling of the home fans -

(Leo once told him that he liked noisy crowds, whether they're chanting his name or calling him a cheat.)

\- and there's something sharp and triumphant in the curve of his smile as he looks towards the bench.

Mourinho applauds.

___

_Q: Mr Mourinho, would you agree that the penalty decision was a questionable one?_

Mourinho: [he smiles] It was clear to everybody who understands football.   
___

  
_another saturday_

Staring might not be polite, but he's probably allowed in the circumstances.

"What is that thing?"

Leo thrusts the mass of greenery at him, grinning.

"For your apartment. I'm not actually sure what it is, but the lady said you only need to water it once a week."

He would object, but it is kind of pretty, and the place could probably use some colour.

"Once a week, you said?"

Who knows, it might look like home again eventually.

_April_

They're 2-0 up and cruising inside a deathly quiet Camp Nou, and any moment now, he can just _feel_ it, the crowd's going to get bored enough to start booing every backwards pass.

(Nevermind the fact that they're so hard-hit by injuries that Andres is captain and playing as a forward, they have a center-back playing in midfield, and Leo's on the bench, trying to come back from another goddamned thigh problem.)

Sometimes, Deco really has to wonder why he bothers with this shit.

Ten minutes later, there's a rustle of excitement through the crowd. Deco can pretty much guess the source - it certainly isn't the defence playing yet another perfect offside trap.

As play stops for the substitution to be made, he glances towards the touchline to see Leo nodding at Mourinho's last-minute instructions.

The crowd applauds respectfully as Andres trudges off, every step heavy with exhaustion. There's a strange hush as he takes off the _senyera_ and wraps it around Leo's arm, as if everyone is holding their breath -

\- followed by an earth-shaking roar as Leo sprints on, stopping next to Deco as they prepare to defend a free kick.

He claps Leo on the back. "Congratulations."

Leo's answering smile is bright enough to power the Camp Nou.

"Thanks."

And just as he's turning away -

With something like amusement: "Mr Mourinho says 'stop moaning and get on with it'."

Deco laughs.

Then he dutifully goes to position himself in the damn wall.

***

Leo always says that he's lucky to be where he is, and maybe that's true, but Deco has always been able to see what's behind the gleaming trophies and personal awards -

_The annex on Leo's last contract, listing all the banned activities, had been three pages long. _

He does extra, specialized training but it doesn't seem to stop him breaking down so many times a season.

A few months ago, he'd come out of a meeting with a muscle specialist his family had found to examine him and not spoken for a week. No one outside the family knows what was said, but Deco could guess.

He's far too young for the only thing he's ever wanted to do to be this hard. Not that he's ever resented that, as far as Deco can tell.

It's not even what's changed him.

___

_Q: what did winning the Ballon d'or mean to Leo Messi?_

Messi: I'm thankful to all my team mates, because personal awards like this come from the team's success.

And to all the coaches I've had, they've all helped me a lot to become a better player. They deserve a lot of credit.  
___

  
_the evening of the champions league final_

"Hey. Can I come in? I've got wine."

The bottle is banished in front of his face. He blinks at the label.

_How did he…this is going to be one of those nights, isn't it?_

He puts on his best long-suffering look and waves Leo inside.

"Okay, now tell me, how did you get that?"

Leo grins. "I am old enough to drink."

He knows that, of course, but it's still a bit unnerving. Maybe because some part of him will always look at Leo and see him as he was at seventeen, looking like a twelve-year-old and playing like an old pro.

"Still, where did you get it?"

Leo does a good impression of his long-suffering face. "Mr Mourinho gave it to me."

"He what?"

_I should have known._

By the careful way Leo's setting the bottle down on the kitchen bench, he has some idea of how much it had cost. "He said it was a birthday present."

Deco stares. "Your birthday's not for another month."

"I think he knew I was coming to see you."

From the nonchalant look on Leo's face, he doesn't quite understand the full implications of what he just said.

Which is just as well.

_Great, now I actually need that drink._

***

Half an hour into the game, Leo leans back into the couch, shaking his head. His glass is empty.

"This is a shit game of football."

Deco splutters. "Leo!"

He has to agree, though. It really is.

Leo snorts. "You think so too, right?"

"Not the point. I'm not giving you anymore wine."

He does a reasonable job of sounding like a responsible adult, all things considered. But given all that Leo knows about him, it's not surprising that it has no effect.

Leo simply nods - before helping himself to a top-up.

"Did you want any more?"

_Honestly, kids these days._

Tempting, but he is supposed to be setting a good example here. Admittedly, it's a bit late to start now.

At least he's trying.

"I don't think it's going to make the game look better, Leo. And don't drink so fast, it's a waste of good wine."

"I'm stopping after this glass," Leo replies serenely.

What seems like the one hundredth hopeful punt arcs across the screen of Deco's nice high-def TV in crystal clarity, making him long for that drink again. No, scratch that, something stronger.

"Mourinho's right, we _really_ should have beaten them."

Leo looks across at that, eyes bright with more than alcohol.

"It's alright. We'll be there next season."

The sad thing is, Deco can almost believe it, just from the certainty of conviction in his voice, and the way it reminds him quite disturbing of someone else with that kind of conviction, and the ability to convey it.

_I really should know better by now._

"You know who you sound like when you say things like that?"

Predictably enough, that makes him look away. "Mr Rijkaard used to."

"Not who I meant," Deco replies carefully, watching the suddenly tense lines of Leo's shoulders.

"I - " Leo sighs, probably realising that he doesn't need to finish that sentence, not with Deco. "How long is he going to stay here?"

"Why are you asking me?"

Leo shrugs. "You always know what he's thinking."

_I wish._

"I have no idea. Why?"

"People here...you know, they're…" He shrugs helplessly.

"I know, you want to say they don't like him. But he's doing well enough."

"Yeah, but…I think Mr Mourinho knows, when he stops winning, that'll be it."

That's the thing about Leo. He reduces football into such simple terms, but that doesn't mean he doesn't _know_. And he knows this club by now.

"Do you want him to leave?"

Leo shrugs, but it's painfully obvious that he's only acting casual. "In the beginning, I did."

If he had to guess, Deco would put this topic somewhere near the top on the list of things Leo doesn't like talking about. Maybe it's the wine this time, because he takes a deep breath and keeps going.

"You know, I used to think it would last forever. You and Ronnie and Sylvinho would always be around, and Mr Rijkaard would be there too. I'd always be the little one in the back. And then they were all gone."

"That's not all his fault, you know," Deco says, almost reluctantly.

Surprisingly, Leo grins in response. "You don't have to defend him."

He should probably be alarmed about how transparent he's getting. "I'm not. You remember what he did at the beginning of the season."

"I didn't like it. But it helped me realize how things were supposed to work."

Well, that's worrying.

"You _really_ shouldn't be taking lessons in proper behaviour from Mourinho."

The corners of Leo's mouth quirk up, but he doesn't quite smile. "It's not about that. He needs us. But we need him too."

Deco recognises the quiet, calm defiance colouring his words and expression. He saw it when they played Chelsea all those years ago, and again when Mourinho first arrived.

To be honest, it sort of scares him.

"So yeah, I don't want him to leave. I owe him too much," Leo says, pronouncing each word carefully and staring straight at him the whole time, as if expecting to be judged for a confession.

Deco shakes his head. He's not quite sure whether the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach is wonder, relief, or even disappointment. Maybe it's simply déjà vu.

He's been here before, after all.

"You've changed, Leo."

Leo only smiles in response, the expression almost as irrepressible as it had been in the old days. "People seem to do that a lot."

  
_fin (there is something to be said for glorious compromise)_

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Jaciara is Deco's ex-wife who he divorced in March of this year after he was caught cheating on her more than once with unsavoury ladies of the night.  
> 2\. Leo's mother lives in Argentina with his sister.  
> 3\. Thiago is popular Brazilian Thiago Motta, who left last season. Leo's cross-town pal Pablo is Argie Pablo Zabaleta of Espanyol, who is likely to leave during this transfer window.  
> 4\. Giovanni Dos Santos is unfortunately known for having a problematic lifestyle and attitude much like his pal Ronaldinho.  
> 5\. Giovanni and Bojan, of course, have been promoted through the youth teams together. Fran Merida (now of Arsenal) grew up with Bojan at Barca's youth academy. Thierry Henry is very close to Bojan.  
> 6\. The _senyera_ is the flag of Catalunya, which is the pattern on the Barca captain's armband.  
> 7\. There's a theory that Messi's muscle injuries will continue to pile up until eventually he's forced to stop playing. (Worse case scenario, and I hope to God it doesn't happen.)


End file.
